


The Anchor That Holds Me

by blehgah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, ambiguous as in not dating but Close, post ideal cut encore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: Takes place during/after Ideal Cut - Final Scene Day 2. Soonyoung dislocates his shoulder in the middle of the show and Chan can't help but hover.





	The Anchor That Holds Me

**Author's Note:**

> The incident happens [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1N2bQvFmIg) (warning for injury), just for future reference. Also [here](https://twitter.com/koalajihoon/status/1059078101072637953)'s their setlist for the day for timing reference.

****It happens during Chuck. It’s not surprising so much as it is unexpected; no one wishes for these things to happen, no one can brace for these things to happen, but no one can avoid them entirely, either.

Soonyoung throws his arms out to execute the move, but it’s wrong—too hard, too fast, something in that range, and he bends in pain. Bodies move around him and his brain tells him to shrink, get away from further danger, prevent more loss.

At his side, Minghao slows and casts him a glance. Most of the members continue with the performance, and Soonyoung wouldn’t have it any other way.

He staggers to his feet. He stands in formation, sweat burning down his back and his temples, pain radiating scorching heat from his shoulder. He needs to leave.

The ending notes fade and Soonyoung dashes off stage.

 

It’s hard to focus when one of their pieces is missing. The machine doesn’t move as quickly or as smoothly when one of its gears is missing. It feels almost like a missing limb—though, considering their numbers, perhaps it’s more like a missing finger—that nearly incapacitates them.

That’s probably why they change the setlist. Hip-Hop Team goes ahead with their performance, but it seems too soon that Junhui is preparing to head on stage.

Chan watches him from the corner of his eye. Junhui is staring at the exit leading to the stage, wringing his hands out, chest expanding with nervous breaths.

Minghao approaches Jun’s back. Jun turns before Minghao touches him. Their hands meet, grasping wrists, and their eyes reflect each other’s expressions.

It’s eerie. Chan thinks his face must look the same.

Still, the show must go on. Jun takes another deep breath and makes his way onto the stage.

Soon, it will be Chan’s turn to take the stage. It’s different when he’s by himself; he is an extension of Seventeen, a branch that reaches for the spotlight. But, even attached to the main trunk, he has to consider what’s best for him to grow.

However, it’s hard to think, knowing that Soonyoung is in the hospital, in pain. That their fans are out there in a similar mindset—or maybe even worse. His thoughts rise slowly, straining towards that sun, but his buds of thought can’t flower, caged in by the darkness of his worry.

The stylists that prepare Chan for his performance seem to understand. They give him space. They avoid asking questions. They prep him and let him go.

Putting on smiles for the crowd is an easy, practiced thing. The fans’ screams are enough to pull his brain back to earth. He revels in their attention and remembers that the show must go on; there are still twelve of them ready to perform for the fans who came out to support them. He and Soonyoung are separate, close as they are.

The solo helps. While Chan has become accustomed to living with his twelve hyungs, to the point where existing without them is hard to imagine, he still functions best when he’s in control.

What’s hard is going out there as an incomplete Performance Team. Their leader is their anchor. Their leader has such a huge presence that his absence is almost as loud as he is. A gaping hole in their sides.

Chan’s smile comes to him naturally as it does with practice, but they didn’t prepare for this. The gap on stage is too obvious. They all make space for Soonyoung out of habit; the stage still bears the markings where he’s meant to stand. But Swimming Fool is only about three minutes long, and Jam Jam is about the same. It marches on, as time is wont to do, ever forward, a straight line confined within the restraints of reality.

Soon enough, mercifully, their time as an incomplete unit ends and Jeonghan takes the stage. He brushes his shoulder against Chan’s on his way out, no time to address him otherwise, but such is the nature of the situation.

The worst is over. At least they’ve got the Performance Team songs out of they way. There are a couple more unit songs with Soonyoung—A-Teen and Change Up, namely—but they can deal with that when they get there.

Chan can’t imagine Change Up without Soonyoung. He won’t be surprised if the company decides to skip it altogether.

 

They hear back from the doctors.

“So you’re saying they just fucking—” Seungkwan starts, but he cuts himself off when the curse slips out. Seokmin cracks a tiny bit and Seungcheol directs a light smack to the back of Seungkwan’s head.

“They just—popped it back in there?” Seungkwan finishes. His voice wobbles for just a second, affected despite personally offering their fans reassurances earlier.

“Yes,” one of the managers replies. “This is a very common injury, so we’re not concerned about his recovery. Some rest should be enough to get him back on his feet.”

“They said he might even come back tonight,” another manager adds. “Of course, we’re not sure if that means he’ll be able to perform, but maybe he can at least say goodbye to the fans before the night is over.”

It’s a relief to receive this information, even if it doesn’t change anything: Chan can’t do anything and they’re still missing a crucial piece of their whole.

The room simmers with the heat of inaction, potential energy. It does not soothe the oncoming cold of early November, and the opposing forces makes Chan’s chest tight and his stomach full of knots.

“Is—” Minghao begins to say. His voice drops to the floor for a second. “Is he in pain?”

The two managers exchange glances.

“The doctors are doing their best to make him feel comfortable,” one of them answers slowly.

“He should be fine as long as he doesn’t try to push it anymore,” the other adds.

The truth of these statements don’t satisfy Chan’s rolling stomach.

Either way, the end result is the same: Chan can’t do anything. He’s helpless to contribute in any way. It’s something he’s tried to understand in countless instances involving his twelve hyungs—such an impossible number sometimes—but something he fails to truly comprehend when he needs to most.

 

Soonyoung comes back and social media dubs him a phoenix.

He returns with fiery passion that lights the coals under everyone’s feet. Soonyoung screams and the fans scream and Seventeen screams and helpless laughter unfurls from Chan’s chest.

Making Chan feel helpless just might be one of Soonyoung’s specialties.

And the show goes on. Things go smoothly despite the hiccup—which is a very mild way of putting it; Soonyoung’s ability to brush it off and cover it up with the volume of his voice makes it easier to process, at least—and they wrap up the show. Albeit with more tears than maybe anyone anticipated, but it’s been a long tour; the summer heat has fizzled out and they feel burnt out with it.

It’s time for a break.

 

They go for barbecue after. It’s a well-deserved treat.

Some members order beer, but Chan doubts they’ll get anywhere near rowdy. Everyone’s just tired.

At some point, Soonyoung pulls out his phone to continue his ‘Seokmin the Sexy Grillmaster’ series. That raises everyone’s mood a fraction, but everyone in the group continues to look at Soonyoung with apprehension, regarding him like their aunt’s antique vase that nearly toppled over and could take flight again at any moment.

There are those who are more subtle about it. Seokmin and Seungkwan have the advantage of sharing a certain part of Soonyoung’s brain; surely they felt his pain more than anyone else, but they know more intimately the ways to protect his heart.

Jeonghan hides behind his glasses, but as an older brother, he’s always more susceptible to these kinds of things.

Soonyoung reaches over and takes a sip out of Chan’s beer. His face screws up as he replaces it on the table.

“Why’d you do that?” Chan asks, a disbelieving laugh caught in the corners of his mouth.

“Because,” Soonyoung says, “I wanted to know if it was, like, something on my face that’s making you guys look at me like that.”

A hush falls over the table.

“Don’t be stupid,” Seungkwan says. He piles some more meat onto Soonyoung’s plate. “You always just look like that.”

Soonyoung huffs. “Look like what?”

“Like that,” Seungkwan explains. He wraps up some pork belly in lettuce before popping it in his mouth, relinquishing no other explanation.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. His grip on his chopsticks indicates he’s quickly slipping out of a joking mood.

Chan finds Soonyoung’s thigh under the table, warmed by the nearby grill. He gives it a squeeze.

“Everyone’s just tired,” Chan tells him lowly.

“Looks like they’re having no problem keeping their eyes open,” Soonyoung grumbles.

“Chan’s right,” Seungcheol interjects. “We’re all tired—it’s been kind of a rollercoaster, this weekend. We’re just—we’re worried, Soonyoungie.”

Soonyoung sends their leader a sharp glance across the table.

“I said I’m fine, didn’t I?” Soonyoung retorts. “Want me to do a couple handstands? Lift you into the air? What’ll get you off my back?”

The table shakes as everyone begins to protest all at the same time. Chan flinches, despite the speed at which his lips start to move. This just proves that they were, indeed, all staring at Soonyoung, silently worrying.

“Hey, now,” Seungcheol says over the rabble. “Let’s calm down.”

Everyone settles back into their seat. There’s some adjusting, feet sliding across the tiled floor, chopsticks clattering, water disappearing behind stiff lips.

Seungcheol’s authoritative tone is enough to affect even Soonyoung. He casts his gaze to the table.

Sizzling fills the air. Seokmin has the sense to flip the meat remaining on the grill.

“I’m sorry, Soonyoungie,” Jeonghan sighs. His words are followed by a chorus of quiet apologies from around the table.

Soonyoung sighs as well. “No, it’s okay,” he replies. “I know it’s all coming from a good place. I just—you know. This is our last concert for the year after a long tour, and I just… I just wanted it to be good. You know?”

From beside him, Wonwoo wraps an arm around Soonyoung’s shoulders.

“It is good,” Wonwoo tells him. “It’s good. Nothing can change the memories we made on that stage today.”

“Hyung, you were a fucking phoenix,” Hansol says next. “It was definitely sad that you got hurt, but then you came back, and the fans were floored. Hell, we were floored. Comeback of the century, right?”

Soonyoung ducks his head.

“Exactly,” Minghao chimes in. “We’re only worried because we’re, like—we’re your family. It’s only natural. But it was so impressive that you really went out there again and danced and gave it your all.”

“That’s our reliable leader,” Junhui states. He gives Soonyoung a beaming smile.

The tips of Soonyoung’s ears start to warm. A small smile falls upon his lips and Chan finds it a little easier to breathe.

“Okay, okay, I accept your apologies,” Soonyoung says, throwing up his hands. “I don’t—I just, I don’t mean to make this about myself. Let’s just eat well while we’re out here using the company’s card.”

Laughter rings out around the table. The group is quick to follow his advice, returning to the meat still sizzling on the grill. Conversation buzzes between them with renewed energy; Chan sits back and enjoys the good vibrations.

Seungcheol orders another round of beer and Chan knows that they’re set for the night.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Seungkwan and Hansol get into a drinking competition. It’s unexpected: usually, Hansol isn’t one for drinking in excess while in public. But some words are thrown around and Hansol gets roped into a fateful game of rock, paper, scissors.

Chan and Junhui carry them back to the dorm, delivering their delicate cargo from the van without much complaint. It’s too late, and the debacle had been entertaining, at least; it involved a freestyle rap challenge. It almost escalated into a dance off, but someone almost burned their hand on a grill and they decided to wrap it up.

“Was there a winner?” Junhui wonders aloud. His eyes are low, resting on Seungkwan’s slumbering form.

Chan shrugs. His charge lies spread out on his own bed; it was easier for the two of them to work as a team and shoulder their way into one room. It’s not that unusual for some members to swap beds, anyway.

And maybe Chan had an ulterior motive. Hansol’s roommate is Soonyoung, and maybe Chan wanted to keep an eye on him after what happened earlier.

And maybe Junhui isn’t stupid. When Chan thought Junhui had begun to melt into the environment of his room, Chan turns to leave and finds Junhui standing by the door.

“So you’re taking Hansol’s bed, then?” Junhui asks. He crosses his arms over his chest.

Chan sends Hansol and Seungkwan surreptitious looks behind his shoulder. They’re dead to this world and this conversation. But Chan still feels nervous talking about this in front of either of them, considering their relationship with him and their relationship with Soonyoung.

“Looks like,” Chan replies.

“If Hansol throws up, then you’re gonna have to deal with it, you know,” Junhui says. He lifts his eyebrows.

“I know,” Chan says, drawing out the words, reluctant to acknowledge it.

Junhui looks at him. Chan regards him, counting the seconds as they pass, trying to maintain confidence.

“Okay, then goodnight,” Junhui says. He grabs a hand towel from a nearby closet before opening the bedroom door. “I’m gonna wash up. Make sure you don’t do anything too strenuous with Soonyoung.”

Chan splutters in reply. Junhui is already heading towards the bathroom. Hansol starts snoring.

Well, at least he dodged that bullet. Though he has a feeling that when he returns to his room tomorrow, Junhui might want to continue this conversation. Especially since it won’t be past 3am.

Chan takes a deep breath. Then, he puts one foot forward, then the next, and repeats the process until he gets to Soonyoung and Hansol’s room.

The door is open. Inside, Soonyoung is getting out of his street clothes. When he gets to his shirt, he begins to struggle with moving his injured arm through the sleeve.

“Hey,” Chan says, quickly stepping behind Soonyoung. He places a ginger hand below Soonyoung’s shoulder blades. “Let me help—”

Soonyoung goes still. His chest expands under his shirt. His arms fall to his sides, one already bare, his shirt rucked up around his neck.

Carefully, Chan pulls the sleeve down Soonyoung’s arm, following the line of his body with ease. Gently, he coaxes the fabric away from Soonyoung’s chest, shoulders, ruffling his hair just slightly on the way.

Again, Soonyoung sighs.

“Here,” Chan offers. He holds the shirt out just slightly. Waiting for Soonyoung to acknowledge him.

Soonyoung turns. He ignores the shirt and opens his arms instead. He steps forward and fits his body against Chan’s, slipping his arms into the curve of Chan’s waist, resting his chin on Chan’s shoulder.

“Hurts,” Soonyoung mutters.

“Did you take any meds?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung nods.

Chan rubs a hand down Soonyoung’s back. Circles over the warm, bare skin. Gentle pressure to the tired muscle.

“Let’s wait for them to kick in, then,” Chan murmurs.

Again, Soonyoung nods. Chan slowly walks them over to Soonyoung’s bed, taking care to make sure that Soonyoung doesn’t trip on anything on the floor. Soonyoung is limp like a doll, draped heavy over Chan’s front like a weighted blanket. Chan kneels between Soonyoung’s thighs and holds him in place as he piles pillows at the head of the bed.

“Can you lie back? Or does it hurt?” Chan asks.

“Should be fine after I get comfy,” Soonyoung replies. “I just—I gotta keep still.”

“You really pushed it out there today, hyung.”

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything. “I felt fine,” he mutters after a while. “The doctor said it was fine—it really wasn’t anything major. I didn’t even need a sling or anything.”

Chan sighs. He pushes Soonyoung’s bangs out of his eyes and runs his fingers briefly through his hair. Soonyoung deflates, little by little, melting back against his pillows.

“Just need to sleep,” Soonyoung continues. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You need to rest tomorrow, too,” Chan insists.

Soonyoung makes a dismissive noise. Chan sighs.

“Is there anything you need?” Chan asks. Changing gears. “A shirt? Water? Tea?”

Soonyoung looks at him. The lines under his eyes are deep valleys and his lips are drawn into a pout. His hair is limp against his forehead and his shoulders are a fragile frame against his nest of pillows.

Soonyoung lifts his good hand and rests it on the nape of Chan’s neck.

“I’ll be warm as long as you’re here,” he says softly.

Chan can’t help it. His ears warm and he has to resist the urge to duck his head.

“Then I’ll stay with you, hyung,” Chan replies.

As Chan slides one knee farther onto the bed, Soonyoung stops him with a hand to his thigh.

“These are not sleeping clothes,” Soonyoung tells him.

Chan lifts his eyebrows for a second, but acquiesces with a nod. “I’ll make a quick trip to my room,” he says, standing.

Soonyoung shakes his head. “Just borrow something of mine,” Soonyoung says.

Chan throws his gaze around the room. There are clothes everywhere; just by looking, he can’t tell where Hansol’s stuff ends and where Soonyoung’s begins.

A few seconds pass. Soonyoung laughs.

“Listen,” Soonyoung says. Chan’s shoulders stiffen. “It’ll be plenty warm with just your body heat. Don’t worry about taking anything.”

Chan pauses, trying to figure out what Soonyoung isn’t saying. He turns and gives Soonyoung a quizzical look and hopes Soonyoung can read his mind.

Instead of saying anything, Soonyoung reaches out with his good hand and tugs at the hem of Chan’s sweater, one of the belt loops on his jeans.

“Off,” is all Soonyoung says.

Chan swallows. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. When he figures he’s stalled enough, he takes a deep breath and pulls his sweater off. Then, again, he hesitates, throwing Soonyoung a helpless look.

“Stop acting like I haven’t seen your damn dick before,” Soonyoung tells him. “I’m not gonna stand for jeans in bed and my one request is that you get in bed with me, so—take ‘em off.”

Chan’s entire face flushes. He shucks off his jeans, grumbling, and settles his ass in bed next to Soonyoung’s hip.

With a pleased hum, Soonyoung smiles and reaches for his blanket at the foot of his bed. A series of memories like images on film of their stay at Yeoseo-do rolls through the front of Chan’s mind as he remembers a similar gesture being caught on camera.

Soonyoung presses his leg against Chan’s bare one, soaking up his warmth.

“You’re such a baby,” Soonyoung says. He grins when Chan pouts.

“You say that like you’re not about to use me as a human teddy bear,” Chan retorts.

“Never said I wasn’t a baby,” Soonyoung replies. “We can both be babies together.”

Chan rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t have much to say to that. He focuses instead on getting comfortable, trying to slot their sides together without jostling Soonyoung’s bad arm too much. He inches toward Soonyoung slowly, taking note of the way Soonyoung’s muscles tense as he moves. It’s a slow process.

Soonyoung’s patience doesn’t last long: eventually, he sighs and grabs Chan’s arm. “I’m not gonna break, you know,” he says, pulling Chan closer. Now it’s Chan’s turn to feel like a doll, a plaything, as Soonyoung arranges his limbs as he pleases.

Chan ends up spooning Soonyoung’s side. With one arm laid across Soonyoung’s chest, Chan can feel Soonyoung’s heart beating. The vibration travels steadily over his nerves and wraps around him, tying him to the present moment, grounding him.

It’s what he needs after a weekend of performing. At the end of the day, after getting drunk on the lights and the cheers, after moving as a gear in the well-oiled machine that is Seventeen, after putting everything in him out there on stage for everyone to see, Chan needs a reminder that he’s only human. He needs a reminder that he is flesh and blood and above all, that he has a heart that beats and thrives in the warmth of another.

As Chan relaxes and falls into Soonyoung’s warmth, skin against skin, tingling over his arms and legs and chest, Soonyoung hums into his ear.

“There,” Soonyoung says, “was that so hard?”

Chan sighs. His breath fans out over Soonyoung’s chest; as it curls back towards his lips, it drives home the fact that they’re so close, breathing each other’s air.

It’s not long before Chan feels a hand in his hair. Soonyoung’s bad arm remains cradled between them; Chan forms a protective cocoon over it.

“Channie,” Soonyoung calls.

“Yes?”

“I hope you didn’t have a hard time,” Soonyoung says, “dancing without me. During our unit stages.”

Soonyoung’s hand curls at the base of Chan’s skull. His fingers trace patterns into the short hair there, nervous. Chan remembers Soonyoung’s remark during their final talk, remembers how he and Seokmin were quick to reassure Soonyoung that they all felt his absence.

Chan remembers Seungcheol’s words: “When one of us falls, we all fall.”

“I won’t say it was easy,” Chan replies. Soonyoung’s fingers go still on Chan’s neck. “But remember that it wasn’t your fault. It’s not like you got hurt on purpose.”

“Yeah, but I should have been more careful.” Bitterness seeps through Soonyoung’s words and tingles on Chan’s tongue. “Especially considering that I’ve been dealing with this for a while now.”

“It’s easy to get carried away on stage.” Chan squeezes the top of Soonyoung’s arm. “You of all people should know that.”

Soonyoung sighs and deflates but he doesn’t protest.

“I’m sure there’s already fan footage of our performance on YouTube or something,” Chan continues. “There are probably holes in our formation. We did our best, but you’re our leader, after all. We’re hardly Performance Team without you.”

“You’re just saying that,” Soonyoung replies, but Chan can feel Soonyoung’s frame relaxing.

“Would I lie to you, hyung?”

“No,” Soonyoung replies, his voice round with happiness. “No, and that’s why you’re my favourite.”

Soonyoung turns his head and plants a kiss on Chan’s cheek, quick and easy. Advantages of cuddling.

“It’s a privilege,” Chan deadpans in response.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” Soonyoung says. But he’s grinning.

Chan lifts his head from Soonyoung’s chest and regards him with a lazy gaze, the world tilted on its axis.

“Do you need me to convince you?” Chan asks.

Soonyoung’s grin remains strong on his lips. “I’m curious to see how you might try.”

Chan shifts his weight so that his face hovers above Soonyoung’s. His hand creases the pillow by Soonyoung’s head. His knees lie on either side of Soonyoung’s hips.

Soonyoung’s heart beats heavily between them, drumming in time with Chan’s.

When Chan kisses him, the first few seconds seem to blur together. Chan wishes he could savour the moment, but he finds he doesn’t have to: Soonyoung holds him close and prolongs it, his arm a brace against Chan’s back, denying escape.

It’s fine; though Chan’s nervousness has his heart hurtling against his ribcage, Soonyoung’s reassuring grip calms him, waiting it out with him, coaxing him into easy pliability. Chan melts and moulds his body against Soonyoung’s and relinquishes just enough of his control to lose his limits to the sweetness of Soonyoung’s mouth.

Soonyoung is the first to pull back. His head falls upon his pillow with a heavy thud.

“Okay,” he says, “you’ve convinced me.”

Chan grins. He presses a kiss to the corner of Soonyoung’s mouth before settling against his side again.

Soonyoung waves his bad hand just slightly, experimentally.

“I think the meds have kicked in,” Soonyoung states.

“Must be why you drooled all over me, then.”

Soonyoung aims a kick to Chan’s shin, but Chan thinks it entirely worth it.

“You’re so hot and cold with me, Channie,” Soonyoung complains. “Is that any way to treat someone in pain?”

“You just told me the meds kicked in! You’re fine.”

Soonyoung begins to whine in earnest and Chan shushes him with more kisses.

“I think I’m falling asleep,” Soonyoung eventually murmurs against Chan’s mouth. His hand on Chan’s hip squeezes him before falling slack.

“You could just tell me you think I’m a bad kisser,” Chan replies.

Soonyoung cracks his eyes open. His kiss-bruised lips curve into a frown.

“I don’t,” Soonyoung replies. “I’m being serious.”

Chan breathes a chuckle. “Yeah, I know. I’m just joking.”

Tension slowly bleeds out of Soonyoung’s body. “Don’t,” Soonyoung tells him, just barely intelligible out of his drowsy mouth. “You’re good. So good.”

Chan leans back on his elbow. He watches Soonyoung slowly loosen his grip on lucidity with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, hyung?”

“Yes, Channie.” Soonyoung mumbles his name. His jaw is too slack to form proper words.

Chan leans forward to press one last gentle kiss over Soonyoung’s sleep-parted lips. In reply, Soonyoung releases a soft puff of breath and burrows towards Chan’s warmth.

“Goodnight, Soonyoung,” Chan whispers against Soonyoung’s forehead. He winds his arm around Soonyoung’s waist before following him into dreamland.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! ♥


End file.
